You find it funny
when you swing hammers
with a laugh and a smile.

Catching your sibling’s eye;
not to be alone in your odious offerings.

You find it funny
when you see me shrink –
handing ‘round your generational trauma
like alms for the poor.

Like we all should have what you’re having…

But you don’t find it funny
when you meet my eyes –
and the laughter of us all paints
a paltry picture of love
wrapped up in hurtful hand-me-downs.

You know it’s been vicious.
You know I’m hurt.

But really, you’re wondering,
if this will be the time
I finally stand up.